


Length of Love

by flecksofpoppy



Series: Poppy's Adventures in Night Ficcing [12]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Confessions, Dick Jokes, First Kiss, M/M, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 04:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5814058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco is well endowed, and everyone knows it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Length of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avoidingavoidance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidingavoidance/gifts).



> I have no excuse for this. A troll appeared in my ask box on tumblr, so I had to write this.
> 
> Also, yes, that title is an Interpol song. Because it's 3am and I'm not clever enough to come up with a dick pun this late at night. ;_;

It’d all started between eighth and ninth grade, when Marco shot up six inches over the summer, and came back to school looking way too buff for his own good. Or at least that’s what Jean had said, eyeing him with a critical, albeit slightly confused expression that Marco hadn’t totally understood at the time.

By tenth grade, they’d all mostly evened out to expected height and grown into themselves. Much to Jean’s chagrin, he’d topped out at around 5’10”, although he was hoping for at least a few more inches. And the best seat in the house to see exactly how you measured up alongside your peers was the locker room.

Marco had grown to hate the locker room from an early age, and it wasn’t because he had any modesty issues. What he didn’t like was how weird some of his friends acted, especially Jean, who one day got called “a prude” after he’d actually yelled at Reiner for snapping him with a wet towel, causing him to drop his own and practically squeal an octave above his regular voice.

Finally, Marco started to realize why. It was embarrassment and a weird sense of competition none of them really seemed to totally understand, unless you were tall and good looking and didn’t have to think about it. It wasn’t that Marco personally thought he was good looking, but after being asked out by a few shy, giggly girls, his best friend took it upon himself to inform Marco that he was: “being a tool by saying no when everyone thinks you’re hot, and fuck you too, by the way, Bodt, for not getting it.” Jean’s words.

Jean, on the other hand, did not routinely earn attention from girls, which seemed to cause him serious consternation. To Marco, it was pretty obvious though that it had nothing to do with his looks, and everything to do with being cranky.

Or, on the days when Jean irritated him, a legitimate pain in the ass.

But what all of that competition brought was something Marco learned quickly to avoid, and that was scrutiny; especially in the locker room.

And finally, at the end of tenth grade, it hit critical mass.

“Damn, Bodt, you gonna put out a fire with that thing?”

The locker room was in full swing during one of their last gym classes of the semester, and much to Marco’s mortification, it was his best friend who started it.

“What?”

Jean had looked at him suddenly with wide eyes, snapping his mouth shut as if he hadn’t meant for the words to come out.

“Uh,” he’d stammered, trying to regain his composure, “sorry... I was just joking.”

It’d taken Marco exactly two beats of silence to catch what Jean meant, and he’d turned bright red from the toes to what he assumed was his hairline.

“Wow, that came out really...” Jean was so bad at apologizing, much less taking things back he’d said, and was a master of putting his foot in his mouth. “Gay. I mean, not gay, just...”

“You _just_ noticed that?” Connie had asked Jean as he passed, oblivious to Marco’s mortified stare. “He’s your best friend.”

“Well, it’s not like I go looking!” Jean squeaked, crossing his arms defensively over his chest and scowling. “Not like you apparently. You’re a perv, Connie.”

Connie snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, okay, tell that to my girlfriend.” He was freshly showered, pulling his shirt on over his shaved head and looking at Jean thoughtfully.

“Uh, could you guys not talk about my...” Marco swallowed hard. 

And then suddenly, three of their other friends walked up. “So, seriously dude, do you take supplements or something?”

“Do girls actually like it _that big?_ ”

“How do you find condoms that fit?”

_“Do you have a name for it?”_

And that was how Marco Bodt found out that his penis had been a frequent topic of conversation amongst his friends in awkward, roundabout ways for the last year and a half, since apparently, according to Thomas in a moment of complete candidness, it was “seriously big enough to be in porn.”

There’d been a moment of empathy from Bertolt Hoover, who’d just patted him on the shoulder afterward and reassured him that extra large condoms did indeed the job and it was totally possible to have sex with the right amount of prepping. An embarrassing conversation to be sure, but Marco had never taken much issue with the idea of sex or his own body. (Well, until this newest revelation.)

Marco also never looked at Reiner the same way after that; that kid had endurance in more ways than just sports.

When his friends realized it made him legitimately uncomfortable, though, the teasing stopped. Even Jean didn’t say anything, although occasionally, Marco did catch curious sideways glances.

That was until one night, senior year of high school, there was a big party at Connie Springer’s house right before graduation.

Marco had never been particularly rowdy and didn’t drink, but there was something about the party that got him thinking. Maybe it was the stress of finals, or the impending rejection or acceptance letters he was waiting to get.

The reason itself was irrelevant, but something tipped Marco Bodt over the edge that night.

It started when Jean claimed he was immediately going to ditch their hometown the day of graduation and take off in his car, looking for fame and fortune.

No mention of whether he’d say goodbye, or how, or when.

Marco had unexpectedly felt upset, and then on edge, unable to enjoy himself or even hold a conversation with anyone, staring at Jean as rambled to their other close friend Mikasa about his exciting future in bright lights.

Marco was sitting on the couch, staring into his soda and hoping he didn’t look too forlorn, when Connie had come up next to him on the phone.

“I dunno...” he said into the receiver, looking up at Marco and holding up one finger, signaling he had something to say. “You want me to ask him? A footlong? Is that the right name?”

This was not happening.

Connie was laughing into the phone, and Marco could hear Sasha’s voice faintly at the other end. “No, I’m not ask that, he’s going to think we’re idiots.” There was a short pause, and all Marco could hear right then was Jean yapping about leaving forever and Connie teasing him about his _giant dick_ , even though it’d been awhile.

And that was when Marco had, for the first time in his life, stopped giving a shit.

“You want to know?” he’d demanded, pulling himself up to his full height and looking down at Connie in outrage. “What I call my giant dick? I call it... _Thundercock!”_ Okay, not the best name, but he was too past caring to come up with something better. His voice rose slightly as he added, “And _yes_ , I’m going into porn, okay? Can you all just _shut up_ about it now?”

Someone lowered the music slightly to overhear what was going on when Marco’s voice started to rise, but now, something was off as Connie continued to stare with his mouth hanging open.

“Uh,” he finally said, and even his phone was silent, “that’s not what I was talking about.” Then he looked downright apologetic, cocking his head to the side. “Sasha’s getting food for everyone. I was going to ask you what kind of sub you wanted from the deli, but I couldn’t remember the name of it...”

Under normal circumstances, Marco would doubt this explanation; but given that he was dealing with Connie Springer—good-natured, perceptive in some ways, but not particularly good at picking up on nuances—he knew that he’d just given his own dick a name without cause in front of twenty of his friends.

“I have to go,” he mumbled, ducking his head and humiliated as he’d grabbed his coat and left in a huff, relieved when he’d managed to escape out the front door and heard the music raise again.

He shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked home, phone buzzing in his back pocket the entire way; he knew it was Jean, but he didn’t feel like picking up or talking to anyone right then.

He showered, climbed into bed, and tried to rest his mind and forget about the shitty night. 

When he finally decided to look at his phone, unsurprisingly, it was indeed Jean asking what had happened. Then another one five minutes later, asking where he’d went.

Then one that called him an asshole for leaving.

And then the last one, from when Marco was in the shower, informing him that Jean had changed his phone contact from Marco Bodt to Thundercock and that if Marco went into porn and moved to a cool new city he’d be really pissed.

Marco texted back: “Shut up.”

Jean had texted back a sarcastic smiley face.

Marco finally smiled before falling asleep.

= = =

Unfortunately, Thundercock stuck, and Marco had no recourse to tell anyone to shut up when he heard it; he’d given it to himself after all.

Someone even asked him to sign their yearbook as Thundercock, but then Jean had threatened to kick to their ass and they’d fled.

Then when Jean asked Marco to sign _his_ yearbook as Thundercock, Marco had suggested that maybe Jean should sign everyone’s yearbook “Love, Jeanbo” and they’d laid the entire matter to rest with equally matched jabs.

Graduation passed quickly. Marco thought it would be more dramatic, or lightening would strike, or something would change; but all that really happened was a long, boring afternoon in early summer heat, watching his classmates walk across a stage. 

It was during the parties that night that lightening really struck, and it came as more of a shock to Marco’s system that this was really it—that Jean really could drive away now, that he’d be going off to college, that most of his high school friends would be hundreds of miles away from one another.

Jean had planned to hit up as many parties as possible, whereas Marco was content to stay with his family, barbecuing in the backyard, being the honors student he always was. He’d gotten into almost every college he’d applied to, save two he’d been waitlisted for.

There was something bittersweet about saying goodbye via a keg and bad decisions their last night together as a class, so Marco decided to drown his nostalgic, wistful feelings in grilled hotdogs and s’mores.

It got late, and as his family slowly disappeared into the house as twilight fell, he decided to stay outside, thinking, looking up into the sky. Maybe everyone felt like this during big life changes.

He wasn’t expecting to hear a familiar voice say from the edge of the yard, “Hey Thundercock, those hotdogs are gonna feel emasculated,” as Jean pushed one foot into the chain link fence and hauled himself over effortlessly into Marco’s backyard.

He grinned as he approached, and to Marco’s surprise, he certainly didn’t look like he’d been to any parties.

“I thought you were going to go out and party?” Marco asked as Jean took a seat next to him in an empty folding chair. 

“Nah,” Jean said simply with a shrug, rolling his eyes and looking disdainful. “Lame. Buncha high school kids.”

Marco snorted and rolled his eyes right back. “You _are_ a high school kid.”

“Not anymore.”

Marco just hummed thoughtfully at that observation, shooting a discreet sideways glance at Jean; to his surprise, their eyes unexpectedly made contact before they looked away awkwardly from each other.

“Aren’t you going to start your career in porn soon?”

“Jean, those jokes are getting really old,” Marco’s voice was sharp as he frowned over at his friend, feeling genuinely irritable.

“So, you’re not going into porn?” Jean asked, and to Marco’s surprise, he seemed to be... serious.

“Are you drunk?”

Jean let out a laugh, hitting Marco in the arm. “No, otherwise I wouldn’t have come here, asshole.”

“Then no, I’m not going into porn. Just because...” he faltered, stumbling over his words. “You know why.”

Jean looked intrigued, and suddenly, Marco couldn’t help but notice how angular his face had gotten, how strong his shoulders were, how his hair had gone from looking doofy to fashionable—all things Marco had definitely noticed before, but now it’d all taken on new significance since everything was ending.

“Have you ever actually had sex?” Jean asked suddenly, his eyes slightly widened as he stared at Marco, as if something had just occurred to him. 

“ _Jean_ , that’s none of your business!” Marco retorted, drawing away and giving a disapproving look. “Can we talk about something else?”

Finally, Jean took an interest in the remaining marshmallows and sticks next to the grill, and the conversation went other places—destinations where he’d considered driving, how he was debating between leaving next week or the following month, where Marco had decided on going to school.

The funny part was that, by the end of the discussion, Marco realized Jean had no idea when he was actually leaving in his car, and Marco had no idea which school he wanted to go to.

“If there was one last thing you could do before high school ended,” Jean asked idly, staring into the fire as it slowly died down, “what would it be?”

“Well, I guess I would’ve already done it,” Marco replied curiously, looking over at Jean, not sure where this line of question was going. “What do you mean?”

“Um,” Jean continued, as if unfazed, his voice nervous, “I mean... what if I said... um...”

_“What?”_

Jean’s nervous energy was making Marco nervous, a rude interruption to the comfortable silence they’d finally established.

“That day, when Connie asked why I hadn’t noticed that you had... um... a huge dick, and I said that thing about it not being in a gay way?”

The words came out in a rush—absurd and random, completely off the wall—and Marco just stared at Jean. The truth was that he sort of remembered, but not completely; Jean has talked a lot of shit over the years.

“I guess?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“I lied.”

“You what?”

“I _lied_ ,” Jean hissed, and much to Marco’s surprise, he realized Jean’s face was flushed and bright red. “Um...”

“Are you saying you want my Thundercock?” Marco deadpanned, turning his head to look at Jean, feeling a flutter of hope deep down that he didn’t want to believe could be true, because it’d hurt too much. It was just a joke, a funny thing to say.

“Yes,” Jean replied with a totally straight face, eyes darting down to Marco’s pants and then back up. “Um, but... I mean, not just that.” 

“I don’t want you to leave,” Marco blurted out, biting his lip. He hated himself for a moment, had been fighting that pathetic admission for months.

But everything melted away when Jean leaned forward to kiss him, pressed their lips together in a crooked motion, and then practically jumped away.

They stared at each other, both blushing a little, and then Jean shoved his hands in his pockets bashfully. “So, um,” he said quietly, “don’t just... go off to college with your giant dick and hook up with lots of girls who don’t care about you, okay?”

Marco’s heart sped up, and he stared at Jean in shock. “I don’t want to hook up with any girls,” he replied softly, deciding to be honest.

Jean’s eyes were glued to the ground, gazing at the dark lawn, until finally looking up at Marco again before saying very seriously, “I can handle your Thundercock.”

They just looked at each other, before bursting into laughter which quickly degenerated into more shy kissing, some murmured words that made Marco blush and had nothing to do with his dick.

“Jean?”

“Yeah?” Jean answered sleepily from where he was comfortably pressed against Marco’s side, lying in the grass together on a blanket and looking at the sky. 

“You can make as many dick jokes as you want, as long as I can keep kissing you.”

Jean snorted, reaching over to link their fingers and make himself comfortable.

“I’m gonna do that anyway,” he confirmed, belying his statement with a kiss against Marco’s shoulder.

Marco just grinned, closing his eyes, and then all he could feel was Jean’s fingers twined with his.


End file.
